30 Sep 06: Supremely Sucky Day

Overslept everything (meeting a friend and then Firefly). Tired. Eyes itch and ache. Dizzy again, from forgetting the meds for a couple of days. Why can't I ever be in shape for anything?

29 Sep 06: Thank God For Friends

Yesterday I decided that this was it, time was up, do or die, and since do was unfeasible and die was unattractive, I called Lissu and asked if she could come and hold my hand and tell me what my strengths were and how I had the perfect right for my goals... and so to help me finally write up that personal study plan. She did exactly that, and thanks to her I'm back on track, and this may be okay after all. I even managed to get through the horror of digging through my boxes of old study papers!

Today, I had a meeting with one of our tutors about the study plan; it was nice and encouraging, and everything seems much, much brighter now. Yes, there's still a bit of catching up to do, but nothing too impossible.

Not enough sleep, though.

27 Sep 06: Things For Sale

Hey, anybody out there in need of a laundry machine (top-opening, almost new), a microwave oven (very little used, compact size), or a kitchen/dining table and chairs (simple, mid-brown, chairs have a pale blue padding, all in good shape)? Also, a round white kitchen table available for free for anyone who's willing to drag it away. And (added later) a 120cm mattress bed with no legs, for free also.

Yes, Mom finally got decisive and moved her stuff completely to Kerava. Which is great, and I'm very happy for her.

Last Sunday, we drove to Mikkeli to visit Olli's middle son and his family, and to see Don Quijote at Ballet Mikkeli (we got tickets really cheap). It was good, very classy and colourful and engaging, and the male lead, Denis Matvienko, was breathtaking! I've never seen pirouettes like that. No, never, not even on any of the legendary male dancers. All you could do was, literally, forget to breathe because your first reaction was to laugh. The ballerina, Galina Stepanenko, either was injured or had lost a lot of her turnout with age, but her turns were wonderful, too. All of the other female soloists were very good, and all in all it was definitely worth it to go and see it. (This was Gediminas Taranda's Imperial Russian Ballet, for those interested.)

The family visit was nice, too.

However, my tiredness and headaches have continued this week. Something must be done, but anything I can think of requires some energy to begin with...

20 Sep 06: All Right, All Right!

I guess I've been avoiding this long enough, and it's silly. I admit it: I'm terrified of trying to get the old literature studies worked out. Terrified. None of the reasons for the terror seem like worth making a fuss about on their own, so I've avoided any such fuss. Besides, I haven't wanted to admit to this weakness, because it seems like admitting that I'm not as free of the old chains as I claimed to be, and that really makes me angry and rebellious and disgusted. But it doesn't have to be that (as Lissu, the darling she is, reminded me). It just means that for whatever reason I'm still not at a hundred percent, and something new and unusual is going to be difficult and scary - as it always is. And of course it's easy to react in ways one has reacted in the immediate past: sleep problems, and not wanting to go and explain and apologise and seem in need of special treatment to yet new people...

So. I can talk about this. I can admit to this and think about it, and I have to, because without putting thoughts into words there's no room for new thoughts. They'll just queue up and create a jam.

I am afraid of going to the departments (mostly literature and pedagogics) with my mess of old studies with some stuff missing and some stuff not marked and therefore practically missing as well, for two reasons. First and foremost is that I'm afraid of being scolded for creating such a mess - it takes me straight back to childhood. In my memories it remains the worst thing I could do: making a figurative mess of something. Much worse than just simply failing something. It sounds incongruous, but that's how it is. And I've actually tried to get these things worked out and received the comment "Hum, you certainly have given us trouble, haven't you?". Yes, really. Second, it's of course frustrating to have already worked hard for something once and then have to do it all over again, because it's not good enough anymore, for one reason or another. And, oh, also because if I were someone else, I could probably just talk fast and get most of it accepted, but since I'm me, I can't try and wrangle benefits that I might not get without putting myself forward...

And also, I'm reluctant to dig into my boxes of old papers and essays and stuff simply because I don't want to remember my life during the active study years. I don't want to give that much thought to the lie I was living in then, and how miserable and naive I actually was without realising it, and how I attached huge, huge emotional storms to a person that was completely wrong for me. I just don't want to visit that time.

I wonder if - actually looking at those papers - I could see them separate from the life. Maybe I could. And in any case, the sooner I do that, the sooner I get it out of my mind. I mean, thinking about thinking about it is really just - thinking about it.

But there's one more thing: going back to those papers feels like giving in. Giving in to expectations, becoming again the Nice Girl, the one who obediently follows what's expected of her. And we know how well that path worked. No matter how hard I tell myself that this is necessary for me, for my own life and no-one's expectations, something in me keeps rebelling. So - is this really what I want? Is this necessary? What is it that I actually want?

Is one indication of my actual wants the fact that the days I've managed to drag myself to school have been the ones with the writing course (even if it's scientific writing)? Or is that too simple an answer - and the truth is that many of the other lectures deal with practicalities, and those scare me more?

I have to think of this; I have to ask myself again what it is that I actually want, and want hard enough, and how to do that. And the truth is, the damned University degree does open doors a lot. So no matter how much I hate it, maybe it's time to grin and bear it.

The one hopeful thing in this should be that at least I'm no longer terrified of the master's thesis itself. I really am not. It feels quite okay to think of it; I feel big enough to argue my own views and take criticism and take the whole thing as a learning experience, an improving process. It's these "How did you make such a mess of this" -stuff that I loathe.

Loathe. That's a better word. Loathing I can overcome; fear's bigger. So I'm not afraid, just reluctant. I'll stick to that.

Okay. I think I've pushed out enough words to have some room for new stuff - words, sure, but right now, mostly things like getting up, getting out of the door and going to buy both painkillers and sleeping pills. And once the sciatica's quiet, I'll be much better.

(Night) So, I was good, and got myself all the medication I was supposed to get. And am feeling much better, even though the damn sciatic nerve doesn't want to shut down with these over-the-counter painkillers, even in double doses. I think I have now put myself together enough to go and admit that I'm still something of an unfinished puzzle, and hope for compassion.

19 Sep 06: Aching, Not Yet Breaking

Haven't been writing, because haven't had much news. Things aren't smooth, and I'm disappointed in myself, but I'm still trying to hang in there. Hope to have better news soon-ish.

It's that time of the year again: weather changing, so I'm half-invalid with sciatica for a few days or weeks. And of course I'm out of painkillers tonight...

Updated some sewing news.

11 Sep 06: Mondays. Normality. Crushing

Mondays suck. I hate everything. I was slow and late, and no-one had told me that we had to be at the library, not at our usual classroom. The library being in the centre, several km away. I've slept too little. I hate everything.

And I hate, hate, hate all this mundane life. Nine-to-five, waiting for weekends, grumpy mornings, hurrying from one place to another, routine. I feel the magic receding into the distance while I struggle in the stranglehold of all this. I'll never be anything that will have any meaning. Who cares about degrees if all they lead to is routine?

Why am I so weak?

10 Sep 06: Sewing Stuff

The flu, luckily, seems to be vanquished and is therefore demoted to just a small cold. Have been working on Auri's Gothic Fitted Gown, made a sewing entry on it. It's been good to gab while doing that, both with Auri and at the SCA sewing circle. My suggestions on lanterns and entertainment program were well received, and I got to see costuming books that are going to really helpful for me!

So much garb I need to make, like, right now!

Also, got a very nice compliment on the weight loss - I guess it does show a bit, though I personally don't feel it's that visible yet, what with all these ups and downs in the shaping-up project. Felt good, even so.

Ilium has continued to be a great read. I'm nearly finished, will try and report more when done.

08 Se 06: Fighting Back To The Books Of The Living

Better today. Just an achy throat and some weakness. Made it to school, have listened to the Word usage tips with one ear, sent all the emails I meant to sent this week and in general been feeling productive.

Now I only wish killeri.net would share my productiveness - our net connection has been erratic for quite some time, and I fear for the progress of all those useful emails... (It's probably not the server's fault, really, but that of the connection service. But I'm not going to curse the service provider, just in case...)

07 Sep 06: ...Times Two

Even more ill today. Slept, drank loads of cocoa and other hot liquids, was useless. Must be up tomorrow - then there's the weekend for recovery.

No energy for any thought.

06 Se 06: Bleargh

Damn typical, got a flu! Have slept today, plan to be up again tomorrow. Couldn't really miss a single day, but can't be helped now.

Rough stuff ahead, have to draft a study plan before even getting back to Uni register, and it has to be current and thorough. So have to work out everything that's unclear, like, right now. Hate this; this really is the worst part. I always get so down about any bad news, and I'm sure there will be bad news about having to retake several courses.

Tired, grumpy and moody. Hope it'll be better once I feel better physically.

Ilium by Dan Simmons (author of the Hyperion series) is fantastically gripping, but I'm too tired even to read.

04 Sep 06: Quick News

The study program started. I was up in good time but even then was about to miss my train for being unable to find anything to wear. Oh well, I thought this was important enough to trust the mercy of friends, and asked Kalle to give me a ride to the station. And got to my destination in time.

Don't know about the group yet. Lots of defenses up, showing in different ways, though of course on the surface we were all oh-so- motivated and positive. At least I was neither the loudest nor the most fragile, for which I must congratulate myself again. Change seems to be a reality, not just wishful thinking. But we'll see how the dynamics begin to work out.

Tired, too little sleep last night (typically enough). Need to get sewing done, but just too tired tonight. But it's okay, with so many new things today, it's allowed to be tired.

I'll get back to you.

03 Sep 06: On The Threshold

It is the last night of summer tonight: a strong, warm wind from the southeast, or from Elsewhere, brought in with the ship of time swooping to the shore. And it is also, officially, the last night of my illness, as I realised while walking in that wind of freedom and daring: the last night of these years of being a helpless drifter in the desert, trying to escape the sins of fathers, mothers, lovers and enemies and failing completely. I no longer need to pay for them; the only mistakes that I must pay for from now on are my own. I have completely, totally, absolutely left the old chains behind. There will still be things I must account for, but those are my own. No-one else's.

No-one will ever, ever make me their victim again, wittingly or unwittingly. I am no longer defined by past things, but by the future. I can be so many things, do so many things, and I can choose to do them and not be stopped by anything except material realities (and the latter may be changed). I can choose what to give - and I want to give so much, but by my own choosing, not someone else's manipulation. I can choose what to take and what to leave behind in my own self. The only one who defines me is me.

I walked in the night, and the heavy drops of rain that the wind shook from its fingertips were a baptism from the old into the new. And I walked through the faerie circles and stopped and thought I had to hold my heart in to keep it from bursting with gratitude and joy and freedom. I survived. The bad part, the labelling part, is over.

And I realised that one thing stayed with me even during the greatest darkness: the magic. The beauty at the crossing-point between forest and story, field and dream, night and poetry. I may not have always been able to change it into words, but the thread connecting me into it has never been cut. It will pull me forever, for better or for worse (for worse when I can't make anything out of it, and I can't say if I ever will), and that right was not given by anyone else, or taken away by anyone else. It is my own. Always was. I thought I saw it in others, but only because it was what I was searching for - but of course I didn't need to; my own thread, my own calling-card, was good enough. I know it now.

The wind was laughing with me and hugging me, and the forest was black and a bit scary, but I am learning to dare things that are scary just because it's fun to conquer the fear. This was only marginally scary, but even so. I am learning it elsewhere, too.

And I'm also learning to let myself choose what I actually want to do and what not to do. If something isn't fun, even if it sounds like the sort of thing I'd expect to be doing, what's the point of doing it? I am allowed to choose hobbies that actually feel good and not just should feel so (and here, actually, surprisingly, SCA goes to the first category: right now, it feels good). I am allowed to listen to myself and not my expectations (or someone else's).

I can choose. Because this is my life, my own. And I survived.

And there were large pale-green apples in a public apple-tree on the way home, and I found one that had just dropped and ate it, and it was crisp and lovely and much sweeter than I expect of green apples, and it was another blessing.

I am incredibly blessed. I survived. I was given all this, all these people who helped me, and all this beauty around me, and I'm here and can do anything. And best of all, finally travel - freely - towards being the real me.